


Not Too Far At All

by imaginary_golux



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the snowball game went too far?  Written for Porn Battle X.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Too Far At All

Perhaps I should be scared, Belle thinks wildly, when the Beast pounces on her, holding her down with strong, clawed hands. Perhaps, too, the snowball game went a little too far. She astonishes herself by not being scared at all, for though the Beast's grip on her arms may well leave bruises - he is larger than she, and does not know his own strength - his claws are held far away from her, and the playful growl on his lips is belied by the sparkle in his eyes. So she laughs, and pretends to fight his grip, bucking up against him and twisting, writhing beneath him, knowing she can't escape and knowing, also, that he would never harm her.

Perhaps the writhing was a bit much, Belle thinks desperately, as the Beast sweeps her over his shoulder and bears her triumphantly into the castle. The enchanted objects are left behind by the Beast's swift strides, and Belle is a little dizzy from being held upside down, and where are they going anyway? The Beast answers that question by dumping her rather unceremoniously onto her own bed, snatching off her shoes and socks, and - to her vast astonishment - beginning to tickle her feet. Belle shrieks with laughter, trying to pull her feet away, and the Beast laughs too, bending down to rub his long mane over her toes until she cannot speak for giggling. Seeing no other option, she curls around and buries her fingers in the Beast's mane, scratching for all she's worth, as though he were a particularly shaggy pet dog. To her further surprise, he leaves off tickling at once and sags against her hands, a low rumble rising in his throat which Belle suddenly realizes must be his purr.

She shifts around until she's comfortable, and scratches him behind the ears until he's almost a puddle of happily moaning fur, his head a warm, heavy weight in her lap. He's kind of cute, she thinks, even with the fur, and if this doesn't prove that he's harmless, nothing will. After a while, she notices that he is stroking her legs, gently, and she stretches out and makes little purring noises of her own.

She's never quite sure, afterwards, how they got from petting each other to lying tangled about each other in a heap atop the bed. She sheds her cloak at some point, and her skirt rucks up until the Beast can stroke her legs from ankle to mid-thigh, long luxurious strokes that make her stretch and sigh in pleasure. Her hands are still buried in his mane, but she does not notice, except to reach a little further, when he curls around until his head is cradled by her thighs. She does notice when he burrows up under her skirt until his breath is hot and tingling on her most secret places. She almost screams and pushes him away. She is never afterwards able to explain why she does not. Instead, she spreads her legs and rubs behind his ears, reveling in the rumble of his purr against her legs, and does not cry out when his warm, wet tongue touches her tender parts through thin silk underthings.

She makes no sound but soft, pleased moans as he licks and licks, and he rumbles his own pleasure against her, making her shiver and laugh. She only cries out when the pleasure of his tongue makes the world shake around her and little stars burst behind her eyelids. The Beast holds her down, gently, as she shivers, and pulls away to watch her. Something about the way she looks makes his hands tighten on her hips, and Belle knows she will have bruises there tomorrow, there and on her arms, and does not care at all.

In later days, Belle knows what the Beast could have done then - knows the power of his desire, knows the joy of him hot and heavy above her, joined with her, part of her. But that night he merely watches as she comes apart and falls together again, and then he smoothes her skirts down and bends to place a chaste and gentle kiss on her lips - their first - and leaves the room. Belle lies on the bed, panting, and wishing for something she does not understand - for more of his tongue, and his hands, and more of _him_.

In the morning she touches her bruises, and smiles, and goes looking for the Beast.


End file.
